Page 2 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
Dottie scans the image again. “It’s a rough first draft from Tim in marketing.” She rolls her eyes. “You know how Tim in marketing can be. Don’t worry, Keira is doing a second pass tomorrow. She’ll class it up for us and make it great.”
Keira is my best friend and the head of our special events marketing team at Herald’s. Generally, she’s the epitome of class, but I’m not sure even she can turn this nightmare around.
I return to racking undergarments, a bit more forcefully this time, anger rising in me before I have the chance to stop it. “I REFUSE TO BE PART OF THIS, DOT! I REFUSE TO FAT SHAME SANTA!”
Did I just yell in my place of employment?
By the shocked look on Dottie’s face and the sudden silence in the air, it’s clear that I did.
My cheeks heat.
Leo, a lovely older man on the Herald’s maintenance staff, pops out from the accessories section, his eyes wide. “You okay, ladies?”
Dottie gives him a shy wave. “Yes, we’re okay. Thank you, Leo.”
Leo smiles sweetly back at her, restarts his floor buffer, and returns to work.
“Penny baby, what the hell?” Dottie says softly.
“You’re still in love,” I singsong, trying to get the attention off my issues and onto hers. Namely, her years-long not-so-secret crush on Leo. “As you always say, ‘life is short,’ right? When are you going to do something about this?” I gesture to Leo, who immediately looks away like he wasn’t staring longingly at Dottie.
Dottie rips into a plastic bag bursting with festive knee-socks. “I am not in love. Love died fifteen years ago, when Arthur did.”
“Arthur’s still alive,” I say.
“Don’t remind me,” she grumbles.
Arthur, Dottie’s ex, left her for a younger woman as soon as their kids were out of the nest. What a guy.
“And don’t change the subject on me!” Dottie continues. “No one is ‘fat shaming’ anyone.”
We start arranging a small Christmas tree sock display, like we’ve done a million times. Because, well, we have.
I clear my throat, a long-overdue speech brewing. “Historically, Santa has been fat and jolly, right?”
“Right…”
“But now, our skinny-obsessed culture is telling even Santa Claus that he needs to lose weight?” I feel my voice pitching up, but I can’t get myself to tone it down. “People need to accept that not everyone is meant to live in a small body! Also, Santa works his ass off! He goes up and down chimneys all night carrying a shit ton of presents! How much more exercise can we expect from the man?”
I complete the first row of the sock tree.
Dottie begins the second.
“To be fair,” she says, “That’s only one night a year. All signs point to Santa living a pretty sedentary lifestyle the other three-hundred-and-sixty-four.”
My stomach drops. “What is going to happen with Tony and Herb? They’ve been here more seasons than I have! Now they’re kicked to the curb simply because they don’t have a snatched ass?”
“Remind me what snatched means?” Dot’s brow furrows as she completes the final row of our sock tree.
“You know…” I make duck faces and pose. “Snatched. It’s the word everyone uses these days to mean fit. Or hot and chiseled or whatever.”
She shakes her head in wonder. “In my day, the word ‘snatch’ was used to describe a lady’s nether region.”
“Please don’t say nether region again.”
“Can’t promise that, hon. It’s too much fun watching you squirm.” She places a glittery star on the top of the tree. “Rest assured that Tony and Herb are still working as our primary Santas. They will always be valued members of the Herald’s Christmas team.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” I exhale.
